


Happy Anniversary

by Penthesilea1623



Series: Battle Maiden [9]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alistair babbles a bit but in the best way, Anniversaries, F/M, Fluffy Angst, Near character death, angsty fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 06:40:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16849048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penthesilea1623/pseuds/Penthesilea1623
Summary: After defeating the archdemon Nell Cousland lies unconscious. Wynne suggests Alistair talk to her in an attempt to bring her back, and once he starts he finds it hard to stop.





	Happy Anniversary

They’d finally left him alone with her. 

The court healers had done everything they could. The wounds had been mended and the bloody bandages were gone. The broken bones had been set, the bruises were fading.

They’d done all they could, but still she wouldn’t wake.

Was it the injury to her head? Alistair had asked. The blow she’d received when she’d slain the archdemon and the subsequent explosion had thrown her back against the stone walls of Fort Drakon, denting her helmet so badly they’d had difficulty getting it off – was that the issue?

They didn’t think so. Perhaps it was something to do with slaying the archdemon, one of the mages suggested. Another who’d apparently done his research had felt the need to point out to Alistair that the historical record showed that the Grey Warden who slew the archdemon had never survived the battle before: perhaps that was the sacrifice required to truly end such evil. His voice had trailed off under Alistair’s stare.

Was that it? Morrigan had insisted that no Grey Warden need die if they went along with her ritual, but had it been a lie? Had she known someone would die no matter what they did, and had she lied to get that child that she wanted so badly, that child with the soul of an Old God?

Had he and Nell been so desperate that they’d let themselves be fooled by the witch?

He’d never trusted Morrigan, not from the first time they saw her. What if he’d been right about her all along, and Nell, who actually cared for the woman, had been wrong?

Rage, hopeless and futile, surged within him.

“Go away.” He’d told the healers, and they’d left without an argument. 

Maybe there were advantages to being king.

It was pointless to think about Morrigan now. He’d crossed to the bed and sat in the chair that had been pulled up beside it. It was done. She’d already been gone by the time they’d arrived at Fort Drakon. 

He’d felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and looked up to find Wynne standing there, her eyes filled with sympathy and sorrow. She loved Nell as well. He’d given her hand a small squeeze before turning back to the figure on the bed.

“There must be something we can do. Anything. I can’t just sit here and do nothing, Wynne.”

“Talk to her.” Wynne had told him, her voice gentle.

.As if that would do any good. “Can she even hear me like this?” 

“I’ve seen cases when it seems to have helped. Let her hear your voice. Remind her what she has waiting for her here.” Wynne’s eyes had lingered on their fallen leader. “Talk to her.” She’d repeated more firmly. “I’m going to consult with Irving and the others.” And she’d left the room as well.

And for the first time in a long time, it was just the two of them, him and Nell.

Talk to her.

He couldn’t think of what to say. 

He looked around the room.

The palace in Denerim had been strangely untouched by the Darkspawn. The poorer sections of the city had taken the worst of it and he wondered why that always seemed to be the case. This room, formerly Queen Rowan’s, hadn’t been touched at all. It was a pretty room, large, with a vaulted ceilings and plastered walls with frescos of delicate flowers decorating them. Double doors leading to a balcony had been left open and a fire had been lit in the large fireplace. That, and a candle left burning on the night table were the only light in the room. 

He looked down at Nell. She looked almost tiny lying there, and she wasn’t a small woman. He wondered if there was a rule that furniture belonging to royalty had to be bigger than regular furniture. Like the enormous throne downstairs that he hadn’t quite summoned up the nerve to actually sit in, the bed here was ridiculously large, ornately carved and sported an elaborate canopy of blue velvet. 

Nell liked blue. The first time they’d made love she’d been wearing a blue linen shirt. He’d unlaced it and slowly pushed it off her shoulders, kissing each bit of skin as it was revealed…

Dear Maker please let him have that again. He reached over and brushed a lock of golden brown hair away from her face. 

She was so still. 

It was just wrong. Nell never stopped moving, not when she was awake, not even when she was sleeping: most nights were a battle for possession of the covers when you shared a bed with Nell Cousland, however the embroidered silk coverlet (also blue) on this bed that had been tucked neatly around her hours earlier, remained undisturbed. They’d dressed her in a fussy white silk nightgown that she would never have worn if given the choice. That was wrong too. Nell sometimes slept in a shirt, but more often in nothing at all and she’d long ago convinced him to do the same.

A ghost of a smile crossed his face and disappeared just as quickly. This, this stillness, this quiet wasn’t her. It was as if a part of her had gone missing, and he was starting to worry that it might never come back, and that bigger pieces would drift away until there was nothing left of her at all.

He wasn’t going to let that happen.

Talk to her.

He pulled the chair closer to the bed.

“Hi.” He said, feeling like an idiot. “It’s me. Well, obviously. Wynne says I should talk to you. She thinks you might hear me if I do.”

He sometimes thought Nell Cousland had been the first person who did hear him, who encouraged his speaking, who asked him the right questions to get the right answers, the answers that made his comments seem, if not clever, then sensible or if not sensible at least he didn’t sound quite as much of an idiot when she was around.

“So.” He began again. “We won.” He reached down and took her hand in his, gently stroking it. “Don’t know if you remember that part.”

Had she been aware that she’d succeeded, or had that blow to the head come too soon?

“You killed the Archdemon.” He added, just to be clear. “The Darkspawn have scurried back underground, mostly. A few stragglers here and there but nothing we can’t handle.”

Maker, he hoped that was true.

“The whole top of Fort Drakon lit up. You could see it for miles, apparently.” He glanced down at her. “You probably missed it, being in the middle of it and all. I had a pretty good view of it from the gates, though.”

He stared off into the distance, and his heart clenched as he remember that moment: the noise, the explosion, the blinding light, and then the realization of what it was, what it meant, but not knowing what had happened to her, not knowing if she’d survived. He’d stood there, paralyzed with fear for what felt like an eternity, needing to know but not knowing what he would do if she….

He shook himself free of the memory but it took a few minutes before he could speak again.

“What was I saying? Oh, right. The explosion. You’ve no idea what that felt like Nell, seeing it, not knowing what it meant, being that helpless.” He leaned forward resting his elbows on the bed, and putting her hand between his two, holding it in place like that.

“You left me there, Nell.” He said, still staring at her hand. “You left me there and I know why you did but, Maker, I was so angry at you.” He glanced up at her still face. “Did you even realize that when you ran off?” He asked her. “I was absolutely furious. I wanted to scream and shout and yell out my refusal.” 

He gave a sigh and lowered her hand to the cover again. “But I didn’t, of course. I was a good boy and I stayed where you told me to. You’ve completely won Eamon over doing that, by the way.” He added. “He’s finally found someone as fixated on having a Theirin on the throne as he is. Doesn’t seem to matter to either of you that I didn’t want it and still don’t have a clue as to what I’m doing.” He looked up at her again. “How many times did I tell the both of you that? Neither one of you ever seemed to hear it, and in the end it didn’t even matter if I wanted it or not because I was willing to try Nell, because you said you’d be there with me and that we’d do it together and I could do anything with you at my side!” 

He was yelling now, or at least talking very loudly, and he couldn’t seem to stop himself. That same rage he’d felt at the city gates surged up again and he pushed back the chair and stood looking down at her. “So I agreed to be king. I agreed to stay at the gate. I agreed to sleep with…” He stopped without finishing the sentence and ran his hands through his hair. He wanted to hit something, to throw something, to scream the way he had when he was a boy in the Chantry just to see if anyone would notice him. “I did all those things so we could be together, Nell Cousland, and if you don’t hold up your end of the bargain…” His voice trailed off.

What? What would he do? What could he do? 

Nothing. 

His threats were meaningless. He was standing here, yelling at the woman he loved, the unconscious woman he loved, as if that were the solution to anything. 

He was pretty sure this wasn’t what Wynne had meant when she said talk to her.

He pulled the chair back and sat down again leaning back and staring at her. 

Could he rule without her? He didn’t want to, didn’t even want to think about it, but he did know that not ruling wasn’t an option at this point. 

He rubbed his eyes with one hand, sighing heavily and a second sigh seemed to echo it. He raised his head, a small spark of hope flaring, but when he looked at Nell, she looked the same. 

Had he imagined it? It was possible but he didn’t think so and that thought gave him hope that he hadn’t had in days.

Talk to her. His brain scrambled for a topic.

“Remember when we started? When all we had was a handful of silvers, a few coppers and the treaties and everyone was trying to kill us?” He gave a small laugh. “Ah, good times.” 

He continued talking for what felt like hours, reminiscing about where they’d been, what they’d done; not the big things, not the trip to Haven and the fight with the cultists, not the werewolves and the Dalish they’d encountered in the Brecilian Forest, not Orzammar and putting Bhelen on the throne and not the Landsmeet.

He talked about little things:

All of them sitting around the campfire, laughing, and trading stories, and that one time she’d actually made Sten smile, though it had been fleeting and the Qunari had denied it vehemently afterwards. 

How Zevran flirted with Wynne and actually made her blush. 

That time Nell had insisted on buying Leliana a fancy pair of blue silk shoes in spite of the fact they didn’t have the coin to spare and Leliana certainly had no occasion to wear them, but how delighted Leliana had been by the gesture. 

About Oghren and Felsi and whether the relationship would last. 

Of those nights they’d spent under the stars, and in their tent, of going to sleep beside her and waking the same way.

He talked about all the little things that had kept them going for a year. 

It seemed impossible now, everything they had done in that year. Impossible that they could have ended a blight in a year, and he said as much to her.

“They’re calling us heroes now. That’s a nice change, isn’t it?” He was leaning forwards, holding her hand again. There was still no reaction from her, but strangely the talking was making him feel better. “I told them you were the only hero of Ferelden and it seems to have stuck, I’m sorry to say; that’s what everyone’s calling you now: the Hero of Ferelden.” 

He wondered how long he’d been sitting here talking to her.

“In three days it’ll be the anniversary of the Battle of Ostagar, did you know? Someone told me that. It hadn’t occurred to me.”

So many people lost. All the Fereldan Grey Wardens. Cailan. Duncan. 

And still after a year his throat tightened at the thought of Duncan, and he pushed it to the back of his mind; he could think of Duncan later. Nell was what mattered right now.

“But realizing that made me realize something else: today is just as important and I’ll bet you can’t guess why.” He paused as if waiting for an answer. “Not even close. I knew you couldn’t guess. You see, if the anniversary of Ostagar is in three days, then that means that you and I met for the first time exactly one year ago today. That’s right. It’s our anniversary.” 

The candle on the night stand that had burned down low sputtered. It would go out soon. He glanced at the window. The sky had gone from black to dark blue. Had he really been talking that long?

He kept talking. “Do you remember when we met? I’d been sent by the Grand Cleric to give a message to one of the mages. There I was being verbally abused by the man and you walked right up to us and I don’t even know what I said after that, not to you, not to him. I do remember your looking at me as if I were insane and I didn’t even care as long as I got to look at those blue eyes for a while longer. The mage huffed off and left us there and I said something idiotic but it made you laugh. I can’t for the life of me remember what it was. I don’t suppose you do, do you?”

To his utter astonishment a voice answered him this time.

“You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together.” 

The voice was hoarse and so low he could barely hear what she’d said, but it was her voice, Nell’s voice.

His eyes flew to her face and he found himself staring into the warmest blue eyes he’d ever seen. Blue eyes he’d thought he might never see again. 

He couldn’t seem to move. “That’s not really what I said, is it?” He asked.

Her lips curved into a weary smile. “I’m afraid so. You made me smile for the first time since I’d left Highever.”

He could only stare at her as his brain tried to process the fact that she was awake and speaking to him. “I made you laugh.” He corrected. He started to smile and once he started he couldn’t seem to stop.

“Yes. You did.” She agreed and she was smiling now too, a real smile. “Happy Anniversary, Alistair.”

And that seemed to shatter his paralysis and he was on the bed, pulling her into his arm, burying his face in her hair and holding her as if was never going to let her go, and if someone had asked him at that moment he would probably have told them that no, he wasn’t going to, not ever. “Happy Anniversary, Nell.” He muttered, holding her even closer. “Happy Anniversary.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've got some inspiration photos and such relating to Battle Maiden on my tumblr. You can link directly to them here:  
> [Battle Maiden photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/battle+maiden)


End file.
